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Every Lady Wanted the Duke — But He Chose the Chubby Girl Who Didn’t Even Notice Him

Every Lady Wanted the Duke — But He Chose the Chubby Girl Who Didn’t Even Notice Him

Chapter 2

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The man tilted his head. "The swan did not."Mabel shrugged. "The swan was already dead."The man laughed before he could prevent it. The sound startled them both. Lucien did not laugh often in public; he was known for the kind of expression that made card players confess to cheating before anyone accused them. Mabel assumed that the handsome stranger had coughed.The man cleared his throat. "There's a kitchen staircase through the blue door."Mabel nodded. "Thank you."She walked past him. The man watched her. "You do not know who I am."Mabel paused. "Should I?"The man had no answer that did not sound like boasting. Mabel opened the blue door and disappeared.Lucien remained in the passage. He stared at the empty space where she had been. He had been admired by duchesses, pursued by heiresses, and once cornered by a viscountess beside a fountain. None of them had asked whether a porcelain swan was dead.At the bottom of the kitchen stairs, Mabel found a cook. The cook was arguing with a footman over six pheasants.The footman held up a bird. "They are for the second course."The cook pointed at the pheasant. "They are raw."The footman frowned. "They're meant to be cooked."The cook folded her arms. "By whom?"Mabel placed the pear on a shelf. "I can help."The cook turned. She was a broad, red-cheeked woman with a floury cap. She had the offended dignity of someone who had been given an impossible menu by a man who thought pastry grew on trees.The cook looked Mabel over. "Can you cook?"Mabel nodded. "Yes."The cook narrowed her eyes. "Can you cook for sixty?"Mabel kept her voice steady. "Yes."The cook pointed a spoon at the oven. "Can you cook for sixty when the oven is sulking, the fish is late, and the housekeeper has locked the good knives in a cupboard because she believes silverware should sleep?"Mabel considered the question. "I can cook for sixty if someone gives me a clean onion."The cook stared at her for three seconds. Then the cook pointed at the chopping board. "Peel."Mabel peeled.She had been a cook before she became Lady Mabel Quint. She had run a small restaurant in Manchester. Customers complained about the price of soup; they also praised her for making them forget they had complained. She remembered burnt fingers and a dishwasher who had once tried to resign during a wedding breakfast. She did not remember how she had arrived in a Regency drawing room; she had decided not to trouble herself about it until she understood the plumbing.For the next hour, Mabel organized the kitchen: the pheasants were roasted with mustard and apples, the late fish became a pie, and a pudding that had been intended to look like a temple was converted into something edible. Mabel sent a footman to retrieve the missing knives; she told the housekeeper that if the knives were not released, the guests would eat with their earrings.The meal was served twenty minutes late. It was the first meal in the history of Lady Fenwick's house to be eaten without anyone asking whether the food was supposed to taste like that.Lucien sat beside his aunt and watched Mabel from the far end of the table. The cook had given her a plate; Mabel was eating behind a potted palm. She believed nobody could see her. She was wrong; Lucien could see her perfectly.Lady Honoria Vale was seated on his left. She had been telling him about her charitable work for eleven minutes: she had founded a society for the improvement of underprivileged lapdogs.Lady Honoria sighed. "The poor creatures are given inferior cushions. It is a disgrace."Lucien looked toward the palm. Mabel was using a dinner roll to mop sauce from her plate. Lucien kept his voice flat. "A national crisis."
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Every Lady Wanted the Duke — But He Chose the Chubby Girl Who Didn’t Even Notice Him

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